I Promise
by Klicker'andKash
Summary: "I promise I will return to you, my love." "Sister dear, don't worry, I swear I am coming back." "My beloved friend, I cross my heart and hope to die if I don't come back." "Mother, don't cry, because I promise I will return." And yet, in the 98th Hunger games, only one promise will be fulfilled, only one tribute returning. SYOT open—need a lot of tributes!
1. A Sinister Plot

**A little bit of backstory: Prim was never reaped, Katniss never volunteered, etc, etc. The girl from twelve won and went into the Quarter Quell with Haymitch. **

* * *

Latisha Spark was the escort for District Two. Or used to be, which would be the more accurate words. She had bright, curly pink hair, dark green eyes, light pink skin, feathery eyelashes, and a very angry expression on her face.

"Oh, curses!" she howled, because she had just received a letter informing her of her recent removal from her job. Actually, to the non-capitalite ear it sounded more like she had just stepped on her foot and was now attempting to act like a snake, but for the sake of simplicity I will translate what she said for you.

Latisha shook her hand at her 42 inch wide platinum hi-definition television screen. On screen, a very youngish-looking woman with dyed white hair was being interviewed. She was the new escort for Two. The woman's name was Adora LaBelle.

Her nails, white with black kittens, made Latisha sick.

On screen, the woman was speaking. "Oh, I am so excited to be the escort for Two this year! I even got my nails painted specially for them. Look!" Adora flashed her kittens at the screen. "Kittens are so cute! I thought that those barbaric Districtians would need some civilizing."

Latisha snorted. She knew for a fact from her eighteen years of escorting (three victors!) that the tributes usually looked at Capital fashions with disgust and amusement. The two future tributes would probably think of Adora as insane.

Adora probably was.

Adora was still talking. "Oh yes, I hope to have a victor this year. I mean, Two! What a lovely district! A lot of victors, and such good-looking tributes too!"

What an idiot.

District Two was not exactly full of good-looking people. That was District One, with its blond-haired beauties. Though Two had it occasional hot male hunk or the lethal beauty, its tributes—though muscular and athletic looking—were not always lookers.

Adora would fail as an escort. Latisha knew from experience that Adora would be hated by her tributes. Escorts that acted way too Capitalish and enthusiastic were (a. extremely unhelpful (b. considered stupid (c. annoying and weird and (d. tended to interrupt tribute's concentration.

Bring!

Without warning, the phone interrupted Latisha's thoughts. Not thinking, she picked it up. Her name was screamed in her ear.

"Latisha!" her mother, Augusta Killius-Sparks screamed. "What is that vulgar woman doing on my screens? I thought you were in charge of the Two tributes!" Her mother sounded very angry.

"Oh, hello Ma," Latisha said. "I was fired."

Augusta Killius-Sparks was not exactly famous for being comforting in times of distress and disappointment. Augusta's one claim to fame was actually her daughter. Needless to say, Mrs. Killius-Sparks was rather mad.

There was at that point a long stream of swearing that the author has found inappropriate to publish. Then, "You are disowned! Until, unless you become the escort again! I never want to see your disgraceful *beep censored word * *beep censored word* face again! Go!" and the line went dead with a click.

Latisha stared at the phone in horror, which did not do anything to change her mother's mind. Sure, her mother was temperamental, selfish, annoying, rarely felt gratitude for anything Latisha did for her, and way too pastel green for Latisha's taste, but her mother was, well, her mother. And Latisha was pretty sure that you weren't supposed to disown your daughter when she got fired from her job. That kinda stuff was wrong. It only happened, like, in the districts or something when a career died a dishonorable death in the Games. Not in the glamorous, shining Capital. No way.

Then Latisha remembered. Unless you become the escort again. Oh sweet, there was a chance. Maybe. If she got Adora fired from her job. Well, Latisha wasn't sure. They would probably move Fabia Leonard from Four to Two. But at least she had to try. She had to come up with a plan!

That night, as Latisha lay in bed, she had a random genius inspiration flash. Blinking, she turned the light switch on and grabbed the first piece of paper she could find and a pen. Then she wrote her genius plan on the piece of paper. And then she went to bed.

The piece of paper read:

_Kill Adora LaBelle_

Yes, Latisha Aurelia Sparks was a true genius.

* * *

**And that is the first chapter! The form is on my profile, and you can submit up to two tributes (How exciting!). I would like to thank RueThisDay as my beta, and my computer for actually working this time. But yeah, go ahead and submit and do all that awesome stuff! And as a general rule, I will not be doing Reapings but instead small introductions because Reapings are just plain boring and everyone just blurs in your mind eventually.**


	2. Tribute Introduction Part I

Latisha settled back into her favorite, ultra-comfy chair with a bowl of chocolate-cinnamon-ice-cream donuts to watch the Reapings live. What a happy thing to do, even though the Broadcast was a little too early these days—eleven o'clock! Imagine! Dear Snow, no wonder the districts were sometimes so barbaric. Anybody waking up at _eleven o'clock_ **would** be barbaric.

Sigh. The anthem started to play on screen. Various images of different victors in their games flashed by. A head falling off a body. A girl crawling in a snowy terrain. Two boys—no, men—fighting. Lizard-like mutts chasing a half-starved girl. A few kids screaming as a firewall advanced on them.

She loved this stuff. So entertaining, so fascinating, so _magical_.

The commenters appeared, along with a sunny view of District One's beautiful Justice Building.

She loved the Games.

* * *

**District One**

_Reaping_

District One's water fountains needed more work, Allegra Vallis decided solemnly as she stood in line with her friends waiting to get her finger pricked. It was pretty enough, made of white marble, except the marble was chipped and old and the stone angel in the middle looked more like a roundish blob then a stone angel. It was almost poetic—_mighty and graceful, the stone angel falls, with no one to mourn him—_Goodness, she could almost hear the singers of the future serenading her. The Victor-Poetess Allegra Vallis! Allegra mostly just wrote for fun now, but after she won, she'd live in the Capital, with all its beauty and fashion. She'd be the Queen.

"Hey, Ally, did you drift off in that fantastically smart mind of yours?" Leander, her boyfriend of a year-and-half teased. Cynthia, her best friend, laughed.

Allegra shrugged. "Be nice, Leander. This year I'm volunteering. The Academy picked me to volunteer. And you know what will happen if I win—"

The sentence was interrupted by a small, slender little girl about twelve who had almost knocked Leander down as her finger was pricked. A first-time Reaping attendee, most likely, from the scared, freaked-out expression on her face. Her narrow face and darker features indicated her as a mine child. A daughter of the miners, a wench probably named after some type of _NOT! _pretty stone.

Allegra narrowed her eyes. Lower-ranking scum, this was. "Get out of here, you pig. Who gave you the right to nearly knock us down, mine trash?"

The little girl whimpers. She backs away slowly, on the edge of tears. "Look where you're going next time, scumball." Cynthia sneers, joining in. Leander crosses his muscled arms and glares. _Mine children_. Allegra thought, twisting the words into ropes of fury and disdain inside her head. District One stereotypes—dumb blondes, useless pretty boys—sucked, but there was one that was true. Absolutely true. _Mine children, the dirt of the earth, _was completely...correct. Maybe she was a hypocrite for hating District One stereotypes but supporting this one, but Allegra didn't care. Mine children were such filthy animals, so useless and whiny and incapable of any higher-level feelings. Once she won, she'd take her family and friends and live in the Capital.

No mine trash there.

The Peacekeeper pricked her finger. _Allegra Vallis, Age 18. _

_Allegra Vallis, Victor-Poetess, Greatest Victor of Panem,_ was what Allegra saw.

* * *

**District Two**

_Two Years Before_

The brown-haired girl is listening outside the window, though the others don't know. They have forgotten to close it—such a careless, casual mistake, which the girl smirks at. If _they _were really in the Hunger Games...they'd be dead. And she'd be the killer.

She smiles with too much sadism appropriate for that thought. The people inside are the ones that have given her _everything_, from her swordsmanship to her food to her happiness. But she hates dependence—weakness. Not weakness, that would be horrifying. No, she is not dependent. She is merely...preparing for her future. That sounds right, the girl decides.

The head trainers, Balbus, Ameliana, Steele, Florus, Laurentius, and Camilla, along with the Leader of the Academy, Nero Black, are discussing the future tributes for the Games this year. Discussing is not the most accurate word choice, of course—Balbus and Steele are arguing as always, Ameliana is yelling at everybody to shut up and listen to her, because she is the daughter—_for fuck's sake—_of 'freaking awesome' victor Petrolia Stonewift. Florus is half-drunk, as usual, back from a night of partying and prostitutes, and Laurentius and Camilla are 'discreetly' touching each other under the sleek wooden table.

"_Children_, please," Nero says, in a bored tone. All talking, touching, and shouting ceases. Florus manages to blearily open his eyes and makes an attempt to sit up. Balbus and Steele glare at each other before turning to face Nero. Ameliana scowls but copies her fellow trainers' movements.

"We are here to discuss the future of District Two's children," Nero says lightly, as if he has not been preparing teenagers for death every year. "Not to argue, to raise our voices, or any of that." Nero raises an eyebrow. "You are the head trainers, and you have duties. Do any of you have nominations for the 96th Games?"

Silence, for a few seconds. The girl outside the window unconsciously crosses her fingers, even though she has long since abandoned those childish gestures. But everything, the rest of her life, depends on what happens next.

"Well," Camilla says, flicking her gold hair back. "My Nina is ready, I feel. Saturnina Pomponia Regals is not only the daughter of influential businessman Marius Regals but also an extremely pretty young woman. Nina is one of the best knife-throwers I've seen, and I have trained tributes for six years. She's quite good at reading emotions too."

Ameliana glares at Camilla. "Saturnina? Her temper is hotter than hell. She's dumber than your boyfriend over there," Ameliana jabs a finger at Laurentius. "Which is saying something, you know. At least Laurentius has sleep buddy. All the boys here are frickin' scared of Saturnina. I vote no."

Before Camilla or Laurentius could make a move, Steel jumps in. "Lucius. Hands down, he is meant to go in the arena. Don't even argue. You know he is."

There is silence, because Steele is right. Florus shifts awkwardly, trying not to fall off his chair. Nero smiles, amused. "Very well. No objections? I'm putting his name down. Congratulations on training such a promising tribute, Steele. You might just get a pay raise."

Amazingly, Florus starts to speak. "For tha' girl," he slurs, "Mabe' Cocow Wheeee_eeee_?" The last part is because Florus faints and his head falls down onto the table. He starts to snore.

The girl outside the window's pulse quickens. Did he say...?

"I think he means Cocao Whip," Camilla says. Laurentius looks adoringly at her. Ameliana pantomimes throwing up.

"Too young," Balbus objects. "Talented, ruthless, but too young. Give her a few years. Maybe the 98th?"

Nero nods. "Accepted, I'm putting her down for the 98th. I've seen her train a few times, I think. Her aim is near perfect."

"Saturnina, then." Ameliana sighs. "I'd say Livia or maybe Junia, but they're even dumber then Saturnina and both are not as good-looking."

The last part is not heard by the girl outside the window. She is too busy celebrating to think about anything else.

* * *

**District Seven**

_A Year Ago_

Orange hair and freckles. Awkward smiles and wide brown eyes, hopeful at the prospect of a friend. The marks of a Vidori child, four of whom have died in the Games.

Tango. Marc. Nile. Scray.

Dead, dead, dead, and dead.

They were all twelve years old. Male. Bloodbath deaths, except for Nile. _He _didn't even make it _into_ the bloodbath. He jumped off his plate beforehand.

This year the boy's name is Benny. He has orange hair. And freckles. And an awkward smile and brown eyes. He is twelve. He has 10 slips in the bowl. The odds are not in his favor, the people of Seven whisper. The Vidoris are cursed. They will have a child die this year. People who no longer care take bets on his odds, his reaction to being reaped, his parents' reaction. People who still care glance sympathetically at him and his family. Even the principle of the local school turns a blind eye to the spitting contests he holds on the playground. Instead of pretending to throw up and gag whenever Ben picks his nose, the girls who know him look at him and shake their heads.

_He will be reaped_, the rumors say.

On Reaping Day the boys are allowed to hope. They are cocky enough to roll their eyes during the mayor's speech. Some are brave enough to make 'crazy' motions at their escort's bizarre lack of clothing. And a few even daring ones whisper during as the escort reaps the girl tribute.

And then their confidence shatters. It explodes like the volcano during the 88th Games. It is crushed like the skull of the boy from Five, as he tries to defend himself during the 70th Games. It is not Benny Vidori, with his weirdo ways and his tragic family history. It is another boy, a popular, good-looking sixteen-year old who steps forward with a shocked look and a shocked gasp from the crowd. Money exchanges hands. People rant.

_That boy Benny was a useless, disgusting troublemaker, _the principle tells his wife. _I can't believe he's alive, _a girl tells her friend. _He was so gross. Bailey Yew was so much better. _

But no matter what people say, it is not Benny Vidori who dies that year with a bloody red smile like his brothers. It is Bailey Yew, with his good looks and charm that goes down on the third day. His smile is bloody and red, just like Benny's brothers, and _they_ notice. _He shouldn't have died,_ they hiss, glaring at the Vidoris. None of them remember Tango, as he pleaded for his life in the bloodbath. None of them remember Marc and Scray, both killed by the blond-haired beauty from District One. And it is safe to say that they have forgotten Nile, stepping off his pedestal too early with a pleading look in his wide brown eyes. They only remember Bailey Yew, eyes rolled up in his eyes as the desperately hungry boy from Four knocks him unconscious and slits his throat.

And when Benny Vidori is reaped for the 98th, Seven smiles, because Hey, it's not our problem. It's his.

And Bailey Yew Shouldn't. Have. Died.

* * *

**District Five**

_Four Years Ago_

The door to the Kinches' house are closed. The shutters are folded, blocking the looks of curious onlookers. A wreath of black hangs on their door. It indicates death. Death, because Lillian Kinch has died.

Death is not familiar to the ten-year old boy that stares at his grandmother's corpse as they burn it to ashes. Only the very rich can afford to bury their dead in Five, and the Kinches are not among them. They may get by without much tesserae, but burials are too expensive. In all his life Malachi has never seen death before this. He had not yet seen the way light leaves their eyes, slowly at first but then all at once. He has never known that someone's body could be so cold until now. He has never seen death the way other children of Five have, because during the killing parts of the Games his parents cover his eyes.

"You're a brave boy," his grandmother told him as she got colder and colder. "Take care, darlin'. I love you."

He was there when the warmth and light left, going somewhere where even President Snow couldn't control. Malachi has never known that death could be so fast and slow, so peaceful and violent.

After the burial, the Kinches tune in to required viewing on their dinky old television: the 94th Hunger Games. This time, his eyes are not covered.

It's his parents' that are.

* * *

**District One**

_Two Months Ago_

Teal de Fiore defies his name as he turns gray. His wife, Violet, peeking over his shoulder, starts to scream as she sees the letter. Teal storms away, swearing and yelling at the factory overseer.

But the damage has already been done.

The employee that did it is soon fired. He is also dead by now—a little bit of hemlock, slipped into his wine as he partied at a bar, unnoticed till the seizure begins. The whore he is with leaves gratefully, slipping his money into her pockets as she does. By morning he is dead, his corpse burned by the Peacekeepers—it had attracted flies.

Indigo de Fiore does not like death. He also does not like the fact that the said employee had just ruined his family's skin-dye business with a few well-placed chemicals in the Quick'n Clean SuperBlue Smart Dye. Skin dye that does not dye the skin, skin dye that burns instead. A little ten-year old girl had been killed, along with her mother and sister. Indigo does not care for some weird Capitalites—who dyes their skin when they're ten?—but he really, really cares for his family's blue skin dye business.

It's this little fact that propels him toward the stage. The chosen volunteer's name is Tassel something. But the male that mounts the stage's name is Indigo de Fiore.

And he will win.

* * *

**Well, that's done! I still have a whole load of tribute spots waiting to be filled...though the District four female is taken and the three and five females are taken too. I will probably take a few spots myself for the bloodbaths, but there are still PLENTY left. Like, a LOT. So keep submitting, and feel free to drop a review. *wink***


	3. Tribute Introduction Part II

**Hey guys! Here's Part II of the tribute introductions. I still have a lot of spaces to fill- -check out my profile for more. You can also reserve tributes, and anyway, here it goes.**

* * *

**District Five**

_Eight Years Ago_

"Hey! Hey Cali, where are you going?" a dark-haired girl with ashy skin asks, eagerly.

They are sitting in the class—or more accurately, the dark basement of a factory where "school" is being held. The walls are cracked, the desks dirty, and the cobwebs blend seamlessly with the walls. Here is where Panem's Bright Future is being educated—a worn-down basement in a secluded section of Five. Obviously, Panem, their mother, loves them so.

Obviously Not.

Of course, the thought flits from her mind as soon as it appears. Golden Panem, her mother would be so furious if they knew. The Capital is the best. The Capital is the mother, the protector, the shining jewel of Panem. Where only the good, upper-class people went. Upper-class people like she.

Seven year old Calisto Romano brushes her scraggly brown hair out of her face. "I don't know," she says. "I think they're going to take me to meet Argon. They want me to be a maid, I think." She casts her eyes down. Oh why, why can't she just blend in to the walls?

"Argon? The victor? They're gonna take you out to be a maid?" a chipped tooth boy asks, shocked. "So yaw get outta school ta work?"

Cali shrugs. "I guess, I mean, they want to get a house. In the Capital."

Silence. Then laughter. The teacher does nothing, Mrs. Brunn, is too tired and almost always asleep. "Ooo, Cali has big, big, big dreams!" A girl guffaws. Another girl, this one with blond hair and bright green eyes, a rarity among the Five people, giggles. "You think you're so much better than us? How cute. You're never going to be. Your parents are FOOLS! Big, big, big FOOLS! The Capital hates us."

Mrs. Brunn's eyes snap open. "Constance! Take that back! The, the Capital, they, they loves us! They, are, our, err, protectors!" Her voice is reedy and high, shrill and unconvincing. Nobody, least of all Mrs. Brunn, who works nineteen hours a day, believes that.

And the Mr. and Mrs. Romano walk in at that moment. The class falls silent immediately. Mrs. Romano softly says to the teacher, "I do not think Calisto will be here for very longer. We have found her a job as a maid." Mr. Romano walks Cali out the door. A few children seem to sink down in their seats as the Romanos walk by.

/X\

Outside, in the smog-filled air of 5, Cali asks a question: "Am I really going to Argon's to work as a maid?"

Mr. Romano's eyes widen with shock. "H-how are we going to get any extra cash, you useless wench?" He stammers, angrily. Mrs. Romano snarls at the question. "Children should be seen, not heard, and that applies to you, Calisto Romano. Understand? I want no more words coming out of that mouth of yours."

"Yes, Mother."

The sounds of a slap fill the air.

* * *

**District Eleven**

_Two years ago_

"Who did he trip _again_?"

"Well, apparently he was trying to show off to Yvonne Daisyson. He tripped her brother. Poor kid's arm is broken, screamed 24/7, Peacekeepers finally put him down. Heard from Acacia Willow that Yvonne was demoted to field work to keep her mind off of him."

"Dear Snow. What a clumsy fool that Bonk Thorner is."

Pala Ammoule listens intently. Being crippled, she was nearly killed in an 'accident' when she was six, but then she discovered beading. Intricate, gorgeous designs, the beadings were. They were taken to be sold in the Capital, through the Capital Liaison. That's what she's doing now. She might not get the best deals, but at least now she has a decently sized shack in a relatively decent part of the district. And they keep her supplied with beads and thread, she doesn't even have to spend money to buy them. Just last week she saved up and bought a cot to sleep on.

"Hey look, its Beady! Pretty, pretty Beady! Hey, Beady, think you can make me somethin' to give to my sweetie?" One of the workers catcall.

The Capital Liaison glares. "Get back to work, scum!" he snaps. Pala grimaces. She hates the Liaison, but its not like she has a choice. One's got to live, after all.

"Sir, Mr. Augustine, the next job requires somebody tall. May we borrow Brent Thorner?"

"Well go get him then! I don't have all day, you idiot!"

So. His real name is Brent. She's heard of him and seen him, from a distance, and he's extraordinarily tall. And he's only fourteen. Nobody knows what he has, in the doctor-impoverished District Eleven, but the rumor is that he's been growing since he's nine. Incredibly clumsy, Bonk, as the district called him, was one of the only sources of entertainment. After all, singing old field songs that everybody's heard a million times gets boring after a while.

Pala finishes trading around noon. Sitting in the shade, Pala finishes off her lunch, a cup of bland, plain oatmeal and a roll of District Eleven bread, and beads under the tree. In theory, she should leave, but she's curious about this Bonk person. Nobody bothers her. Around an hour later, Bonk arrives.

He's huge. Tall huge. Surprisingly skinny, with dark hair and dark eyes and dark skin. Pala dusts off the dust from her pants and walks up to him.

"Hello." Pala says quietly. Bonk nearly falls down, at the shock. His eyes are wide with shock.

"Oh, um, hello, I'm Bonk, you're, um, never mind, whatsyourname?"

So he was awkward around girls, Pala noted. Surprising.

She grinned up at him. "Hello Bonk. I'm Pala."

And just like that, friendships happen.

* * *

_**District Two** _

_the Reaping_

Cona Shinx is the volunteer this year. His mother, Mayor Shinx, goes out and buys him an expensive silk suit specially imported from the factories from Eight. It costs enough to feed the local Community Home for two weeks. Mayor Shinx buys it not because she's proud of her son, or she likes him, but because he's going to the Capital, and he needs to make the Shinx family proud. She won't have him wearing any other boring, plain old suit!

Such parental pressure, but Cona was a big fan of the Games. And torture. In general, he was nice to everybody and had a likable vibe around him, but he made his exceptions.

He made sure not to fidget as the escort, Livia Heliotrope, read out the speech about district honor and dying for a greater cause. He didn't listen. His father had made him memorize it when he was 6, and Cona saw no need to listen to her read the same thing, even if she was a Capitalite. His father was too obsessed with the Capital, sometimes. Not that his victor-daddy appreciated his opinion. Cona hadn't been able to sleep on his back for a week (literally) afterwards.

He twirled the bracelet around his hand as Lidia reached her hand into the bowl and drew out a piece of paper. The bracelet was bronze, with the words _Champions Win _engraved. The family motto.

"Lupa Black!"

A mildly annoyed looking girl with dark brown hair made her way up the stairs. "Any volunteers?" Livia asked cheerfully, her full, big, blue lips stretched across her powder-white face.

"I volunteer!" Someone shouts. Cona glimpses a flash of brown and blue and then there's a girl on stage. She looks vaguely familiar, but that's not what takes his breath away. The volunteer is beautiful, gorgeous, whatever you want to call it. Lovely.

"My name is Cocoa Whipp," the girl says. Her long, wavy brown hair tumbles down her back. She's from the academy, Cona remembers. Girls and boys, though, are trained separately, so he's never talked to her.

"Soren Steelton!"

His hand shoots up on his own accord and a smile is on is his face, faster than most can blink. "I volunteer," and his voice sounds booming, loud, honorable, memorable. And then his feet are carrying him forward. Cona beams at Livia and Cocoa. "I'm Cona Shinx." He announces.

Most kids would've felt quite awkward with their mom _and_ dad onstage. But Cona wasn't most kids. And he knew it.

If only he could get his district partner out of his head.

* * *

**_This is a really, really short chapter, I know, probably not worth the really long wait. But I had to, you know? School is a total female dog. _**


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